


Tucked Away We Are Found

by nerdygaycas



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Original Percival Graves, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Era, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Institutions, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Credence Barebone, Recovery, Semi-Public Sex, dubcon, imprisoned Credence, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdygaycas/pseuds/nerdygaycas
Summary: Credence Barebone survived that fateful month of November after the metro attack, but MACUSA deemed him a hazard to himself and the rest of the world, and so he was sent to Kästner, the place where ill-fated witches and wizards, untreatably sick or mentally disturbed, suffered in shame, completely forgotten.Exactly one month and eleven days had passed since Graves was officially reinstated in his charge, but despite his best efforts to forget the whole ordeal, like a cut that would not stop bleeding in his mind: Credence, the Second Salemer boy.Haunted by the weight of his conscience and a strangling sense of duty, Graves decides to travel all the way up to Kästner, and pay Credence a long-overdue visit.





	Tucked Away We Are Found

**Author's Note:**

> i don't like much how this turned out, but it was already written so why not share right? ehh

The Kästner Institute for Magical Afflictions lay in the foothills of a great mountain, safely hidden not only by a myriad of protective charms, but also by a magnificent conifer forest so dense the air itself seemed thick with gloom. Beyond the premises, a smooth indigo lake softened the harsh repute that preceded the establishment while providing with a fake sense of tranquility. 

It was the place where ill-fated witches and wizards, untreatably sick or mentally disturbed, were sent to suffer in shame, forgotten by the rest of the world.

If one made it all the way to Kästner it was for good reason, and no one argued otherwise.

It was the place Credence Barebone was sent to after being apprehended that night at the subway station. Reduced to nothing more than a flimsy shadow of his former self, and severely traumatized by the dreadful chain of events, the young man was declared a lethal hazard for wizards and no-majs alike. Unstable and highly dangerous as he was, a grand jury unanimously voted he be locked up until further development, if there was to be any.  

Exactly one month and eleven days had passed since Graves was officially reinstated in his charge, and three full months since he was released from the grimy cell Grindelwald had thrown him in. The road back to normality was long and winding, and he still struggled to stand firm on his own two feet. Vivid memories of the Cruciatus curse lacerating his insides and the putrid smell that festered between those four walls rarely left his mind, and so, Graves found himself working past midnight excessively often.

And right in the heart of it all, like a cut that would not stop bleeding, was Credence, the Second Salemer boy. The one Grindelwald had belittled and scorned as if he were worthless vermin, yet still used as a valuable means to his end.

Against all good sense, Graves cared about the boy, to a degree. The way one cares about the calamities that befall the neighbor one only smiles at. 

The fact that MACUSA, smeared by its arrogance and willing blindness, all too readily chose to put Credence away without further remorse, filled Graves with indignation and contempt. The system had failed, not the boy. He was simply a victim of his circumstances, and now he spent his days trapped inside a cage same as a criminal, same as an animal.

Riveting dark eyes and an unflattering haircut, Graves remembered.

He had spoken to the boy just once, and that one time was enough to make him wince and glower at the gossip spread at MACUSA. They spoke of Credence as if he were a terrible monster, a vicious killer.

Did they not know he was a hapless boy first?

Haunted by the weight of his conscience and a strangling sense of duty, Graves had decided to travel all the way up to Kästner, and pay Credence a visit.

As soon as he reached the iron-wrought gates, Graves felt uneasy. His blood curdled, and the hairs at the back of his neck rose like the hackles of a common beast. The stone building exuded unhappiness, and one could almost smell the scent of sorrow in the air.

As he stood in the dimly-lit entrance hall waiting to be checked, Graves couldn’t help thinking he’d set foot right into Pandora’s box of evils. Immediately, his sharp senses picked up on traces of dubious magic as well as the pungent scent of soap, blood and decay.

A stubby nurse conducted him to the ward where Credence was held in. On his way, Graves heard the desolate cries and manic laughs of other residents. They all seemed to have succumbed to Kästner, either in body or in spirit, and in many cases, both.

Dread twisted in his gut as he approached the door that led to Credence’s room. He was afraid of what he would encounter behind it. Who.

In his mind, a scared boy with red-rimmed eyes and cut palms called out for help as the Obscurus took over his lanky body. But that was not Credence anymore.

Graves didn’t know who Credence was.

“He doesn’t speak much,” said the witch in a flat tone, taking out her wand to disable the charms that guarded the door.

For security reasons, and following strict norms of protocol, guests were forcefully stripped off their wands before meeting with high security residents to prevent any mishaps. Graves felt naked standing there, heart thumping heavy in his chest, an organ carved out of rock instead of tissue.

His meeting with Credence was to be supervised too, but at least the nurse would remain a silent witness by the door, or so he had been assured. The thought wasn’t all that comforting, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Alright, in you go, director Graves,” said the woman after effecting one last inspection, small hands patting him down in search of no-maj weapons surely. She gave him a circumspect glance, raking her eyes over him without deference, and added, “Do remember he’s an omega.”

Graves nodded, that he knew. It was a main detail listed on the record, and a bit of information that made the appearance of the Obscurus even more disturbing. Omegas were supposed to be soft and gentle by nature, creatures predisposed to kindness and compassion in the face of adversity. The amount of abuse and fear the poor boy must’ve endured to have his magic turn inwards for so long, without being killed by the strain, seemed suddenly unfathomable.

Credence’s room was rather small. The walls were impeccably white and austere but for the smooth mortar joints. The only pieces of furniture were a narrow bed, a shabby writing desk and a chair.

Since there were no windows, a single lamp illuminated the room, its light flickered constantly, like a firefly’s belly. On and off and on again. Graves couldn’t imagine anyone retaining their wits under the exasperating twinkling.

When he’d been captive there had been no lights, no diversions from letting the mind gnaw itself raw. Time had ceased being.

Until – “ _Over here!_ _He’s alive!_ ” - it came into existence once again.

Although Graves was still adjusting to the capricious ticking of the clock, he was back into the real world. Well enough. A functioning cog in a greater machine.

But Credence wasn’t, not yet anyway.

The lingering memory of Credence as a fearful yet promising young man was instantly torn once Graves’ eyes met the boy. In front of him a fragile figure sat hunched on the floor, near the bed foot, clad in a washed-out cotton nightshirt, with strands of matted black hair obscuring his face in shadows.

“Credence?” Graves asked in a soft voice, treading carefully towards him.

But Credence did not look up, utterly unaware of his presence, a prisoner held by forces stronger than the wards guarding the grounds.

The room seemed immense in its ghostly pastiness. Disheartened, Graves realized his role: an intruder, a creative tool to prolong Credence’s anguish and instill compliance in him. 

“Mr. Barebone, there’s someone here to see you,” said the nurse from behind. The condescending tone in her voice bothered Graves. It was as if she were speaking to an infant instead of a rational young man more powerful than she could ever dream be.

Nevertheless, Credence remained a pitiful sight, fading the longer Graves stared.

His chest tightened with a vice-like grip at the unhealthy slenderness of Credence’s frame; his wrists, chafed by hostile restraints, resembled shards of broken glass. His parchment-thin skin was mapped from underneath by distressing rivers of blue.

This was not the boy Graves remembered. It was a sadder, more fractured version of him. Was Credence still in there, waiting behind battered bones and a flogged spirit?

Graves crouched before him, keeping a generous distance as to not startle him, “Hello, Credence,” he whispered, extending a hand.

He could sense Credence’s apprehension, could see the boy’s muscles tense at the sound of his voice.

After some hesitance, slowly, like a prey raising its head to meet the lion after having seen its reflection in the water, Credence drew up his gaze. Graves felt the weight of those tired eyes roaming his body, traveling from his heels to his flexed knees, and stalling on the straight line of his shoulders. The minute they finally reached his face, Credence flinched and recoiled with a silent gasp, features fixed in a countenance of sheer fright, body nearly falling backwards on the floor.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Credence,” said Graves, rapidly assessing the situation he’d put Credence in, “I am _not_ Grindelwald. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

It was a truth long since revealed to Credence by grace of many interrogations and a prolonged trial. The whole charade had been thoroughly exposed by many prattling mouths and printed papers, and Graves’ good name had been cleared of all the mud Grindelwald had dragged him through. However, based on Credence’s instinctive reaction, his face had yet to atone for the devil’s sins.

With a tightly clenched jaw, Graves cursed the dark wizard wishing he could wrap both hands around his sallow throat, and squeeze until life escaped his reptilian eyes. After letting out a long, worn-out breath, he cleared his throat.

“I wanted to see how you were doing here, Credence. I wanted to know - if you were… alright.”

Every word tasted bitter, and bitterer than the last, in his mouth, clotted and coarse, unkind. He could only pray Credence didn’t think he was mocking him.

Graves waited, not expecting to get through to him easily. Credence seemed too far away and unwilling to return from the tiny island he’d exhumed for himself with bloody fingers.

Credence’s eyes skittered around the room, evading the space Graves occupied, skipping and sliding, welling at the corners before the delicate chin began to quaver, only then, in the exact instant when desolation laid out its tendrils with nerve, Credence turned his face to look at him without faltering or retreating. It felt like the first time in an eternity.

But that was not the face which had haunted Graves’ nights and days during the long months of imprisonment, and which continued to do so nowadays, even more adamantly. What he remembered was a gloomy, malnourished boy, but this… this was a forlorn creature hurt horridly by the vicissitudes of an unfair life.

The eyes were sunken deep, the lips, chapped and faded, no longer wore that lovely flushed shade that had made Graves grumble with self-reproach.

From those wretched eyes, fat tears began to sprout, rapidly staining the hollow cheeks and falling off the too sharp jawbone. Suffused little hiccoughs had the frame trembling promptly, and at that, Graves’ heart dropped to his feet.

Moved by his protective disposition, Graves approached Credence and wrapped his arms around him, feeling the barely there warmth and the severity of a scrawny shoulder digging into his chest.

“Shh, lovely. It’s going to be alright, I’ve come to help you.”

It was as if his Alpha, gentle albeit somewhat unrefined, had taken up the reins of his brain. His only thoughts centered around the imperative necessity of comforting the brittle creature in his arms, to steal him from that nightmarish pit, and shower him with kindness until easy smiles curved his lips.

“Shh,” he repeated, as Credence’s sobbing left wet splotches on the fabric of his sleeve.

Graves held on to him through the fitful heaves and the cries that seemed to rip Credence’s insides just to die in his throat. For long minutes, they swayed like a boat servile to the sea, until Credence regained enough composure to recall his hard-taught manners. His lashes, however, were still dressed in grief.

“Sorry,” he mumbled abashed in a tiny voice, wiping furiously at the mess with the back of a hand and extricating himself from the embrace.

Graves gave him a moment to collect himself, allowing silence to lick the wounds. With a thumb, he brushed away one rebellious tear, and the digit was soon followed by the hollow of his hand. Famished, Credence leaned into his touch, “It’s alright, Credence.”

Past the layers of mistreatment, he briefly glimpsed at the boy he’d met in a dark alleyway all those months ago, the boy with fear and wonder burning bright in his eyes.

Beneath the delicate skin pulsed the stubborn glow of youth, and specks of amber glinted in the brown of his eyes, imbuing them with faint verve. He could almost hear the beating of Credence’s heart too, soft thumps echoing in the crate of his chest.

Credence looked down at his hands bringing them to his lap, and picking at the loose skin around the bitten fingernails, “What… What are you doing here, Mr. Graves?”

Graves paid close attention to the language Credence’s body spoke. He resembled a scared tortoise hiding in its shell, a pup kicked hard by the boot of a foul kid. Credence bit his lip then, not in the flirtatious way Omegas did to seduce Alphas, but merely out of habit, hard and merciless, draining the flesh out of what little color it retained.

“I told you, Credence,” he said, spirit plummeting in one swift plunge, “I want to help -I want to help you.”

Credence huffed and let out an empty laugh, shaking his head frantically, and hugging his knees close to his chest, “No,” he hissed. His eyes were two cold, lightless suns when he looked at Graves and smiled, “You can’t help me, _Mr. Graves_. I’m a m-menace -an aberration. A… a freak.”

It took all of Graves’ strength not to move from where he sat. Credence needed space, he needed time. This was not going to be a trouble-free endeavor, he had known that since the beginning. It was the main reason why he had lastly agreed to take some time off. The whole of MACUSA had fucked up, and he had to make up for it. Make it up to Credence. And this was how, saving him like he deserved to be saved long ago.

“You don’t have to trust me, Credence. To be perfectly honest, I’d be a little concerned if you did.”

Credence narrowed his eyes but stayed quiet, expectant of what other words would come out of Graves’ mouth.

“It’s true that man hurt you, using my face no less. And I’m sorry, I really am. But it is also true I am not him, and I… I came here because I care about you.”

“Why?” the reply came fast, a reflex or the hasty fall of a guillotine. 

Graves lifted his hands, scalded by the sharpness of the question. He didn’t know _why_ he cared about Credence, only knew he did. The very thought of not making the slightest effort to try and help him burned like poison in his pith.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” he said carefully, as if walking on a field of eggshells. From the corner of his eye he saw the nurse shift her feet. Credence had followed the path of his gaze, and upon seeing the pristine uniform, his expression switched into one of humble dread, “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life here, Credence?”

It was unfair of him to extort Credence this way, to impose himself as lone savior and unique ticket out of Kästner, but who else gave a single damn about the only Obscurial America had seen in over two-hundred years? Who else was here, inside this prison cell called by many other names, begging Credence to let them help?

Credence shook his head, a tiny movement from left to right, lips pursed in a thin line, limpid eyes set firm.

“Okay,” Graves whispered mostly to himself, crossing his hands over his knees. He hadn’t planned for after Credence’s acceptance, mainly because he didn’t think Credence would accept his help in the first place, “Okay,” he repeated.

Credence glanced quickly in the direction of the door, and scuttled towards Graves on hands and knees, settling at his side once more. He smelled strongly of soap, but Graves distinguished soft undertones of something sweet as well, like plum wine and gardenias in the summertime.

“How?” Credence asked softly, head canted to the side, while chewing on a fingertip.

Mouth open then closed, Graves didn’t know what answer to give the boy whose stare revealed other than skepticism.

There weren’t many options available for them, especially since Credence’s internment was purely the cover-up of a life-long incarceration sentence. Graves doubted any of the other residents at Kästner were as special as Credence, but truly nobody in the world could begin to compare. To get Credence out he had to effectually demonstrate the boy wasn’t a threat to the nation’s security –a claim no one would oppose to if they only saw the frailty of Credence’s current state. There were other ways of course, the unbreakable bond shared by a mate, or probative domiciliary custody, though the latter didn’t count as freedom in Graves’ eyes, and the former... it was not a possibility.

“Time’s up.”

The door swung open on its hinges, the short steps of the stout nurse clicking loudly on the floor.

Credence’s eyes went wide as he curled back on himself, shoulders and head slumping forward, a slave expecting the whipping touch of his master’s blow. His body trembled, and he seemed cold. Thin and poorly dressed as he was, Graves suspected he must’ve been freezing.

 “Now, director Graves,” said the woman harshly, almost spitting out the words.

Graves cursed lowly and got to his feet, dusting off his trousers, and extending his hand to Credence, which he took after mild consideration.

“How?” Credence whispered with a tinge of despair.

“Now, please,” the tone, finality and cutting.

Graves patted the back of Credence’s hand, and smiled a half-hearted smile, “We’ll see.”

On his way out, a heavy weight set on his back, boring him down like an anchor. Every step down the stairs sharpened the crude reality of the situation. His connections as director of Magical Security and head of Magical Law Enforcement were fractured, and no one in his right mind would lend a friendly hand where Credence was concerned.

He was given his wand back at the front desk, and the witch on duty eyed him with blatant curiosity, jumping to conclusions as to what business such a personage could have at the Institute. He saw her red-painted lips part with intent, and rapidly scrawled his name on the visitor list. With a brusque ‘good day’, he took his leave. The receptionist’s punctilious eyes trailed behind him until he was out the door.

 

The next day Graves arrived an hour earlier. He hadn’t sketched out much of a plan, but the first step towards Credence’s freedom relied on the boy’s ability to grasp the real world once more, to look straight ahead instead of focusing on the white miasma tugging at his feet.

He was asked to fill out yet another form apart from the regular visiting one, but it allowed him to get Credence out of his room for a whole hour, supervised by a member of the staff.

Credence met him on the left-wing terrace. He wore white cotton pants and shirt, and his hair seemed less of an unkempt mess than the day before. Though he walked with slow steps, and braced both arms around his middle, there was a spark in his eyes as he took in all of his surroundings: the rich virescent steep of the mountain and the massive blue horizon where sky and fresh water became one.

They headed for the patch of land by the edge of the lake where a few shabby tables lay scattered under lace-hemmed sunshades. The appointed nurse, a willowy middle-aged woman with flaxen hair and hollow cheeks, was civil enough to sit at a neighboring table and pretend to read a paperback, though Graves was certain she was eavesdropping on them to pick up any minutiae.

Credence scratched the side of his face. His skin shone ghastly white beneath the rays of the sun, making him look more fragile. Graves cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the table, the buzzing of a bee hummed in his ear.

“How do you feel today?”

Credence looked at him with suspicion, and sat back, the bad habit of picking at his nails making a reappearance, “I’m fine.”

Graves pursed his lips and nodded. They both knew ‘fine’ wasn’t the right word for how Credence felt, but what else was there for him?

Minutes passed, the estival breeze carried ragweed pollen grains that itched slightly under Graves’ nose. To his left the great lake seemed to loom closer, “I’m here”, it could’ve been saying, “I will always be here, and so will Credence.”

Although wandless magic had always come easy to him, Graves thought it wiser not to tempt his luck, and so he asked the appointed nurse to fix them a cup of coffee and another of tea. After a moment of clearly offended reluctance, she agreed.

“Did you have breakfast?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee, bitter and stale, it made him grimace.

Credence nodded, warming his hands on the steaming cup of spearmint tea. Long strands of hair fell over the sides of his face enhancing in him that androgynous air so common in male Omegas.

Graves shifted in his seat, not willing to ponder on those thoughts.

“You should know—“ he began, tempting his luck at small talk, “the city has regained its dull monotony since—Well, it’s just as hectic as it’s always been really, but – it’s normal, again.”

Having a tea party at Kästner with a highly-guarded resident while feeling like _he_ was the unhinged one, was not something Graves had ever expected to occur in his lifetime, yet here he was. And the problem wasn’t reserved to his inability to speak the right words, but that faint fragrance too, it clung to the tip of his nose, and travelled to the place between his shoulder blades, sprouting warm wings that somehow fogged his mind.

Across the table Credence eyed him with caution. His cup still full.

“Shouldn’t you be at work, Mr. Graves? It’s— “he paused, and counted with his fingers. The knuckles were too bony in Graves’ opinion, they were sore too, “Friday, isn’t it?”

“Ah,” he replied, lips forcing a smile, “No... No. It’s actually Tuesday.”

Credence looked crestfallen upon realizing his mistake, but quickly withdrew his gaze from Graves to focus on the tall irises swaying by the lakefront.

“I could get you a calendar if you’d like,” Graves offered, unsure if it was the right thing to say, after all, the purpose of his being here went against letting Credence call home these unsympathetic, endless halls.   

The offer however, fell on fertile ground, and Credence looked up so fast Graves feared for an instant he’d break his neck.

“Yes! I—That would be very kind of you, Mr. Graves.”

The sheer zeal in his voice, the raw honesty of that short-lived joy, hit Graves with greater intensity than any Cruciatus curse ever inflicted upon him.

Credence, with his suite of white pajamas and his spartan slippers, would wither like a desiccated butterfly if he were to remain locked up here. Forgotten. The Obscurus who wrecked the city that December of the ’26.

Graves’ throat tightened like a rope knot.

A raft of loons luxuriated in the water, riffling their feathers, splashing and spattering all around.

“Very well then. Tomorrow,” Graves couldn’t help noticing the stark contrast between this Credence and the one he’d seen a meager day before. The sun and the summer breeze did quiet wonders for his visage, even if it retained its worrying gauntness. He would do good by Credence, if the boy let himself be helped, “I shall bring it tomorrow.”

There wasn’t much else to speak of, the dead family was off-limits, as were all events related to the Obscurus attack. Likewise, MACUSA was vetoed, and the weather seemed far too impersonal and inherently insulting. Graves closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the humid scent of the late morning.

He was about to bid Credence goodbye when he felt the clammy touch of the boy’s hand over his own. The dark circles under his eyes made them appear bigger, shiny, like those of a porcelain doll, but strangely ominous as well.

“May we take a walk, Mr. Graves?”

Recovered from the initial shock of having Credence be so forthright, Graves agreed silently. They walked around the grounds with the willowy nurse patrolling behind like a specter. The grass was exceedingly overgrown in certain areas, and fallen and upright trees grew moss and spongy fungi on their trunks. It was a mild summer morning, placid in its unashamed indolence. Credence didn’t cower from Graves’ touch at the small of his back, and Graves didn’t dare detract his hand lest Credence fell or stumbled.

Later that night, downing the last of his whiskey glass, Graves remembered Credence holding his cup of undrunk tea. How vulnerable he’d looked, how apprehensive! Graves did not wish to expand on the reason why Credence refused to drink the beverage, the reason why he was so damn thin. Verifiable abuse procured by the staff would benefit their cause, but it would be the same as enrolling Credence in another secure hospital, and Graves couldn’t avoid hoping that wasn’t the case. He did not want Credence to suffer in order to get him out. For all its bad reputation, and seemingly hostile personnel, Kästner did provide a serene, remote environment for those who truly needed it, and shutting it down would be a lengthy enterprise with slim chances of success.

During the weeks that followed Graves visited Credence every day, sometimes twice. He made sure Credence ate most of what was put on his plate, and brought him the paper so he could be up to date with what was transpiring outside the rusted gates of his little world.

Credence no longer walked slowly though the habit of constantly glancing over his shoulders was still as present as ever. He was a soft-spoken creature, Graves came to know, even free from his Ma’s beatings and the hawkish gaze of the staff (Graves had managed to arrange more than a few private meetings).

It was a crying shame but the fact remained Graves didn’t know how to proceed, how to liberate Credence from the snares of that place, not without breaking an incongruent amount of laws that would have him sacked in a split heartbeat.

The end of July approached, the summer blooming in its splendor, and with it, Credence had gained a lively rouge on the apples of his cheeks. He was a delicate figure clad in white but for the top of the head. Graves had taken his own comb one day, and sitting down Credence on the chair of his room, had begun the arduous process of untangling the knots. The nurses had threatened to cut it all off.

“It’s… long,” Credence had said between astonishment and fascination, grasping at the ends that fell around his mid-shoulder. “Is it too long, Mr. Graves?”

Graves sat on the bed, tucking the comb in his breast pocket, “Do you like it?”

Credence ran his fingers through it, feeling the silky weight of his loose curls, and nodded sheepishly.

“Then it’s perfect.”

Graves was aware his feelings weren’t the most unselfish when it came to Credence. More and more, he saw himself as a puppeteer, a man taking advantage of a victim. Any solace available to Credence resided in him. With the confections and trinkets and books he brought over every day he had carved a place for himself within Credence’s heart, and as selfish as it was, he enjoyed it. But the realization of liking Credence’s company did not cease with conjectures and reveries. The boy’s scent come full summer delved into his pores, infecting him with a near-liquid want to please and protect him.

Each day Graves grew more restless, conflictive emotions wrestling within. He was an Alpha devoted to an Omega that wasn’t his. He waited on foot and hand as the circumstances allowed, but with no true right to do so. Were Credence free and living in the city, people would be wondering about their proximity, but here, hidden in the woods, there was no one to see, to judge. No one save the personnel who glared at him on the best of days anyway.

He had spoken with a few witches and wizards who worked at Kästner, the ones that didn’t seem too angry at his presence, and he’d found they weren’t all malicious, but the ones in charge of Credence -those were vultures, drunk on the glory they believed guarding an Obscurial bought them.

How pitiful they seemed to Graves, but pity wasn’t enough to put them on his good book. They weren’t nice to Credence, this he had suspected for a long time, from raw ankles and wrists, from bruises they didn’t even bother to heal for appearance’s sake.

Today Credence had a gashed eyebrow. His excused himself saying he’d tripped over the edge of the bathtub, a lie Graves saw through immediately. The nurse posted outside the door had smiled frivolously at Graves when he arrived.

“You shouldn’t come by tomorrow,” Credence was saying as he rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze.

Graves stopped his reading and closed the book as he uncrossed his knees. “Why is that?”

Credence glanced at him for a split second, and shrugged.

“You don’t know?” Graves prompted gently, curious as to what obstacle lay before them now, what was the culprit of this setback.

Shaking his head furiously, Credence folded his knees over the edge of the bed and clasped both arms around them, moving to and fro like a rocking chair moved by the chill air of the night. “You shouldn’t come by tomorrow,” he repeated in a strained voice, “You really shouldn’t.”

Lips were bitten, and the black hair flapped from side to side. Credence slid to the floor, head cast down, a litany of _no no no_ resounding in the air.

“Hey, no -Hey,” Graves couldn’t pinpoint the catalyst of the crisis, but he knew he’d done wrong.

He tried putting his arms around the trembling shoulders, but was repelled with swiftness. Sitting on his haunches Graves listened to the stertorous lament, and saw clear drops spill on the floor.

“Please don’t come by tomorrow, please,” Credence pleaded in a croaky voice that sounded like a murmur, muffled as it was by his clothes.

Graves sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t.”

 

Hunger. Or something akin, something primal anyway.

It had surged since he’d last seen Credence, and every second spent without him made the ache within Graves harder to subside. He knew it wasn’t proper of him, this want to possess every inch of Credence, inside and out. His brain, his heart, his body. Graves wanted them all, like the dragon hoards gold. And just as possessive he’d come to expect every scrap of the boy’s attention.

Wallowing in misery and self-contempt would not do. It would show in his face, and he didn’t want to disappoint Credence, or make him uncomfortable, when he next saw him. So, Graves put on an ordinary set of clothes and ignored the accelerating beating of his heart. _This_ was not a chase of the olden days; this was his daily visit to someone who needed his legal help.

The wizard at the desk, a young man not even in his thirties, asked him to wait while he consulted the governess. He came back with a negative answer and a mouse-like aplomb.

“What do you mean I can’t see him? Why -Why is that?” he demanded, all his energies turned to angry red, and Graves feared he had fucked up by agreeing to Credence’s odd request.

The young man, clearly new to the job, opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish, unable to give a satisfactory response. _Why_ , he was asked again and again, but he could say nothing and simply spew out excuses as to why it was ‘an impossibility at the moment.’

“Listen, kid. I understand you’re following orders here, I do, but it seems to me you forget who I am. I could have you locked up in one of those fucking rooms for far less,” his chest heaved up, blood seething beneath the skin. He lowered his voice, “ _Why_ is Credence Barebone ‘unavailable’ right now? Has something happened to him? Is he injured?”

The wizard, S. Gawain his tag read, let out a shaky breath and stood up, leaning closer to Graves so as to not have to speak louder than necessary, “He’s… in heat, director Graves. It’s bad.”

Warmth rose to Graves’ collar, but he composed himself before the Gawain could notice.

“I suppose it’s been… dealt with appropriately?”

But that type of information, Gawain said, was classified. Still it did nothing to appease the need to make sure Credence was actually alright. He asked to speak to the nurses he knew –the relatively friendly ones- but none of them were available.

Graves went back to the inn, more restless than ever, ready to pull every card from his sleeve if they refused to let him see Credence the next day. Simultaneously, for the boy’s decorum he realized he needed to step back, and think with his head and not his groin. Yet the knowledge of Credence going through his heat on his own, without a real knot to sate him, burned in his gut.

He was a danger to Credence, more so than the overdressed nurses, more than the unfeeling walls of his cell.

He stayed away for two more days, for good measure, and on the third he was debriefed on Credence’s state by the chief nurse.

“You may see Credence but you mustn’t be shocked” he was told. The heat had been intense. The poor boy had been restrained to the bed while the unrelenting heat and the pent-up energy of the Obscurus made his body arch up in delirious agony.

He was to stay five meters apart, and he was under no circumstances permitted to touch Credence.

Graves considered as rather poor their methods. Tying up a person was inhuman to begin with, and if said person was an Obscurial Omega going through their heat, it became utterly cruel and disgusting as well. However, the alternative –an impersonal fucking by Merlin knew whom—was not good enough an option either.

Upon entering, Graves was overwhelmed by Credence’s scent. Thick, saccharine and soothing, its undeniable tone of vulnerability appealed to Graves’ Alpha with candor.

“Sir… Mr. Graves?” said Credence in a dry, choked voice, eyes blinking in confusion. He lay sideways on the narrow bed, hands tucked beneath the pillow, “What are you doing here?”

Graves clenched his jaw. He’d thought himself strong enough to do this, sufficiently disciplined. Obviously, he’d never been around a heat-glowing Credence. His skin had a lovely blush to it, he was overpowering.

“I don’t… I didn’t want you to see me like – _that_ ,” Credence continued.

Graves gaped at Credence. In his mind, thoughts of claiming the boy and letting him find comfort in the heady notes of his Alpha scent, sprang up. He wished to whisper sweet promises in Credence’s ear while he fucked him, mated him. Credence would _have_ to be let free. Everyone knew it was deadly for any Omega to live far from their mate when a bind had been made.

A stifled, clandestine moan escaped Credence’s mouth and wafted like a heatwave over Graves’ skin. He noticed the room had grown warmer, permeated in the humid scent that was Credence, who could not hide the tiny, aborted thrusts of his hips. Reacting to an Alpha, his body begged to be taken. The obvious innocence painted the picture even more enticing in Graves’ full-blown eyes.

“Credence… How do you really feel?” he asked, fighting his every muscle not to close the space between them Credence. 

Without wanting, he could feel his cock starting to react to Credence, the inseam of his garments suddenly too tight.

Credence mewled like a wounded creature as the canting of his hips became more pronounced, unmistakable now for what it was, a mating call.

“I – I don’t know, Mr. Graves. I don’t feel -it’s _too_ hot, I’m sorry!”

Graves bit the inside of his cheek, and looked at the back head of the nurse standing outside the room, “Fuck! What’ve they done to you, my Credence?  Did they… help?”

Credence shook his head, rubbing his sore wrists and crossing his ankles while he curled on himself.

The sole idea made Graves’ blood boil and growl. Neglection was too small a word for what these so-called professionals had put Credence through. Heats this intense, uncontrolled, were prejudicial to any Omega, for Credence it must’ve been even worse. There were spells known to ease the urges, yet the bastards had done nothing.

Percival huffed, and walked over to Credence, cradling the sweaty head in his hands, and stroking the warm skin of his cheeks.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, hating himself for wanting the answer to be ‘yes’.

What he received was just as good. A nod.

“Look at me, Credence,” the boy opened his eyes and looked at him through glassy orbs, cheeks tainted a bright shade of red, and looking so very young it made Graves’ heart shatter to see him so desperate and needy.

“Mr. Graves…” croaked the boy, and it reminded Graves of the first time they met in that dirty alleyway three blocks from the Second Salem church. The boy had been so famished he could barely walk more than a handful of steps, and here he was, looking slightly better physically, but troubled by a whole different matter. A pain that wasn’t inflicted by belts or rash hands, an ache that would only be subsided by an Alpha.

The Credence before him hungered deeply for it, Graves knew. He wondered if he could sate Credence’s appetite as he’d done that one time before. Mating someone though, was a far cry from buying them dinner.

Credence’s teeth chattered, and he coughed.

“Mr. Graves, please help me,” the boy whimpered, he seemed beyond his own mind.

His white gown was flimsy cotton, and starting to soak beneath him. Graves could smell his slick permeating the room.

“If I do…” he said through gritted teeth, placing a hand on Credence’s forehead, “What in Merlin’s name!” despite the beads of sweat, Credence was ice-cold to the touch.

The boy’s shining eyes welled. In his desperation, he was utterly frank and open. His helplessness stirred Graves’ Alpha, “Cold bath,” he explained.

Graves took a deep breath to calm the surge of anger before it burst.

He looked at the woman outside the door, who raised an eyebrow at him. Graves still held the rank of director of Magical Security, but in this forsaken place _they_ wielded all legitimate authority. For whatever reason, she glanced at him, nodded and left. He would never forget her small act of mercy.

“Come here, love,” Graves said, sitting down on the bed and prompting Credence to scoot closer and borrow from his warmth.

Grown up an only child –and a solitary one in Ilvermorny-, Graves knew little about Omega development. He’d heard stories from distant relatives and classmates. He pitied them, Omegas. The hardships they had to undergo only to be treated as a lesser kind in society. Worst of all were the heats, according to everyone he knew, they were supposed to be unbearable.

Looking at Credence twisting in his arms, those tales gained a new sense of realness. Poor Credence, his precious boy, was digging his fingers in Graves’ skin, clutching at his chest, and humming a broken tune to himself. The heat was definitely making a comeback, beckoned by Graves himself most likely.

The room reeked of Credence’s pheromones, that sweet scent that overwhelmed all of Graves’ senses.

He wanted nothing more than lie down next to a fully sated Credence. He wanted to kiss the back of his neck, and promise him everything would be alright, to wrap that thin frame close to his chest, and have their bodies slot perfectly together, to ease the pain that aggrieved Credence so, to slide inside his tight heat and give his slicking hole a fat knot to milk.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence moaned, reclaiming Graves’ attention.

“I’m here, Credence. I’m here,” he said, pressing a kiss to a tear-streaked temple. The sheets were rumpled under Credence’s figure, and there was a wet patch under him.

Graves stroked a milky thigh, and cursed the erection in his pants that begged to be shoved inside Credence.

Credence looked up at him, and confessed in a brittle whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Graves shook his head, and tilted Credence’s chin up to get a better look at him. The black hair lay beautifully disheveled over his shirt.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, my boy. I know it hurts, and I want to help you, Credence. I do,” upon hearing this Credence’s gaze lit up with hope, a blissed-out smile adorning his lips, “But I need you to trust me, and I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me, Credence? Can you be brave for me?”

“Yes, Mr. Graves, yes, please! Just make it go away.”

Graves mumbled an ‘okay’, and let his hand wander higher, beyond the lean thigh and to the soft curve of Credence’s ass where the heat was greater. The boy was leaking so much the inside of his thighs was wet too, making it all too easy for Graves to slide his cleft.

Credence’s breath caught when Graves’ thumb brushed his hole.

Graves pressed a kiss to his shoulder. The skin was still cold, but thawing under his touch, “It’s alright, love. See?” he prompted, as the finger slid slowly inside the fluttering muscle, pulling him in. “It’s alright.”

Credence shut his eyes tight, his brows as furrowed as his lips were pursed. Then he started to push back against the digit adamantly, fucking himself on it as best as his fatigued muscles allowed.

Another glob dribbled down Graves’ hand, and instinct drove him to withdraw his fingers from Credence to put them right inside his mouth. He wanted to _taste_ him, to gulp down the boy’s heat.

He moaned at the flavor, pungent sweetness flooding his tongue, and blooming inside his chest, rushing from the base to the tip of his cock, and increasing the need to pin Credence to the mattress, and fuck him like the needy Omega in heat he was.

Graves pushed the two fingers back inside Credence, relishing the broken cry that spilt from rosy-bitten lips. He could’ve easily managed four fingers, wet as he was. So, Graves added two more.

With a silent spell, Graves locked the door, disregarding all protocol, and palmed himself through his trousers.

Credence’s lips were the color of ripe red apples, and unshed tears dangled from his lashes. He looked so small curled on his side like that, but Graves knew it wasn’t the best position for an Omega’s first knotting. He cajoled the boy on his knees, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

The white gown, rolled up to his middle, exposed all of Credence’s lower half like a feast for Graves’ eyes. The pale softness of his sharp curves, the taint glistening with slick, the pinkish puckering muscle demanding to be ravished.

Graves realized he’d been staring too long when Credence began pushing backward, little mewls and moans that composed a sinful choir. The poor thing didn’t know what it was he wanted, just that he _needed._

Graves pressed a kiss on Credence’s side, and magicked his own clothes away. It felt right to be here like this, kneeled behind Credence while dense slick oozed sweetly from him, ready to be breached. It felt just as right to drape his body on top of Credence’s, to feel the cold yet feverish warmth of his skin colliding and mixing with Graves’, to inhale Credence’s desperation, and steal awkward-angled kisses from his chapped lips. To rub himself between Credence’s cheeks, and feel the easy slide of their bodies: maddening.

Credence kept saying his name over and over and over, which made Graves feel like a merciful god. He who brought peace and serenity, who wanted to shower Credence with undiluted love, who wanted to fill the boy with his seed, and bite a mating mark on the side of his neck.

Graves lined himself up to Credence’s entrance. At first, he had intended to go slow, to not push past the boy’s limits, but the velvety insides of Credence’s channel eagerly pulled him in, and then Graves was slowly slithering inside, going forward, not stopping, emblazoned by a heat so tight it turned every breath into a feat.

“Mr. Graves, it’s too much -too big! It hurts, Mr. Graves,” Credence was saying, but Graves could barely hear him above the noise of his own blood pulsing hot and heavy inside his veins. He was a wildfire, a man reduced to instincts, an Alpha with no other thought than fucking the Omega trapped beneath him. He wished to kiss Credence tenderly, to pacify him while he thrust inside his little hole.

“No, it’s not… It’s not too big, love,” he said encouragingly, fighting to still his hips, “You can do this, Credence. We’ll do this, and then I’ll get you out of this place, okay?”

Credence made a soft sound in his throat, something that sounded like a ‘yes’.

Graves pulled back, and the tight drag had them moaning and grunting in unison.

Graves began then a steady rhythm, a constant push and pull of his hips, aiming for the boy’s sweet spot, and hitting him every so often it wasn’t long till Credence was yelping so loud every other patient on the floor would’ve heard were it not for the silencing charm Graves had cast.

“Fuck!” Graves said, as Credence quivered and panted, feeble streams of white soiling the sheets.

Credence became all the more compliant after coming. The, until then, virgin hole seemed keen to let Graves in deeper, to clench snugly around it, and Credence’s body, thin as it was, shuddered same as a raft shaken by the sea.

Graves had never felt like this, for anyone, not people he had romantic feelings for, not people he had bedded just to blow off some steam. Credence was something else altogether, something wonderful, like a hurricane and an earthquake combined. There was a distinct otherness impregnated in the boy’s heat, an alien feeling that made Graves feel like nothing and everything.

He kissed the back of Credence’s neck, and mounted him with renewed strength, rejoicing in the liberating feeling of knowing he loved so much he could die. He heard Credence’s cries of pleasure, those stretched-out sounds uttered without any hint of decorum.

Credence, the Second Salemer boy, hanging by the end of his cock, trickling inordinate amounts of slick, as if wanting to lure in more Alphas, but no. He was Graves’ and Graves’ alone. He would make sure of to that.

Graves could envision them so clearly, just as they were right now, but back at his place in the city. Arriving home tired after a long day’s work, Credence waiting for him, groomed and prepped, happy.

He grabbed Credence by the waist, and pushed deeper inside the boy, fingers digging into hipbones. Graves would feed him better, and fill out those wan valleys.

“M-Mr. Graves, I-,” Credence began, but stopped midsentence, interrupted by a high-pitched moan that Graves wolfed down greedily.

“What is it, Credence? What do you need?”

Graves turned the boy around, and laid him on his back to take a better look at his face. Strands of hair were plastered to the sweat-pearled skin, and he seemed to be glowing, and that smell – _Mercy Lewis!_ -, it was intoxicating, it pierced a hole in Graves, and mingled with his very blood.

Graves eased his pace, and stared at Credence, stroking the sharp curve of his cheekbone. A series of thuds.

“Mr. Graves, there are p-people staring. I don’t want –I can’t!”

Graves shook his head, “Easy there. I won’t let them take you from me, Credence. Not now, not ever.”

It was a clear, rough truth. Graves was in for the long run, had been for quite some time now.

That people were staring as he mounted Credence, filled Graves with equal amounts rage and satisfaction. They’d know whom Credence belonged to, who had legitimate power over him. Not some self-righteous pack of nurses, not even the bastards from MACUSA who had sent him to rot in this cell. None of them had anything on Credence’s Alpha.

Since Credence was registered not as a convict but as a danger to himself, were they to bond it’d be Graves’ legal right to get him out of Kästner, and by Merlin he’d move heaven and hell if need be.

He could not think much though, the only coherence in his mind was that of shoving himself deep and deeper inside Credence, to hear the slap of his flesh pounding against the boy’s ass. He leaned downward, Credence’s legs resting high on his shoulders.

“Did you miss me, Credence?”

Graves groaned, pleasure pooling in his belly like a flame.

Had Credence noticed it wasn’t him all those months ago, had he the faintest suspicion the man who lied to him and hurt him so terribly wasn’t Graves?

Credence was so lost in his bliss that the question seemed not to get through.

Graves captured Credence’s lips in his own. It was the first time, he realized, and he was eager to drink the boy’s moans, to infuse himself with Credence inside and out. He was drunk and mad, and his team would be most disappointed to learn their boss had been entirely defeated by the sweet pull of a tight Omega ass. Weak, but only for Credence.

“Fuck! How come you haven’t been claimed before, darling?” Graves said, breaking the kiss. He focused his lips on Credence’s long, elegant neck, could feel the vein pulsing hot underneath.

Credence gasped and locked his legs behind Graves’ back, bringing him impossibly closer. Graves found it hard to tell where he ended and Credence began, they were melded by the heat and the slick and-

“I can’t do this, Mr. Graves, please _please_ make it stop. Make it end, Mr. Graves, _please!_ ” As Credence said this Graves glanced quickly out the door. Behind the glass stood a few members of the staff, a couple wore disapproving glances while a third one seemed to be enjoying the show. He didn’t trust them for good reason, but couplings were never interrupted –the closest thing wizards regarded as sacred these days-, and letting go of Credence was not an option.

He snarled.

“Did they ever touched you?” he asked demandingly, the harshness of his tone surprising in his ears.

Credence looked at him terrified, and Graves hated how that expression made his cock throb harder, the possessive side of him joyous to have Credence pinned down, helpless.

“Did. They. Ever. Touched. You,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a hard blow to Credence’s prostate, and making Credence jolt and moan with each one of them.

“No, no,” Credence said between sobs, crazed by either lust or pain, or a combination of the two, “I swear,” he added, as if to appease Graves.

“Good.”

Graves lapped up a string of saliva at the corner of Credence’s mouth, and reached lower to wrap a hand around the boy’s tender cock. Sometime later, when they were safe at home, he would kiss Credence there, have the boy spill down his throat, then put him to bed.

At the thought, Graves felt his knot forming hard at the base, flaring hot and stout. It would require effort from any inexperienced Omega to take it all in.

Heat gathered in Graves’ gut, he could feel his orgasm building up, the primal need to breed the little thing that squirmed so prettily beneath him, to mark him as _his_ while those bastards watched; claim Credence by pushing the fat knot inside his greedy, flexing hole, and pump him full of his seed.

“That’s it, Credence, love. You’re doing so well.”

Suddenly, Graves recalled the inexplicable attraction he’d felt the first time he saw Credence. The ardent wish to help the boy, to close his open wounds, and hold him through his pain. Now that same feeling was multiplied tenfold, and Graves wondered if tales of true soulmates weren’t just olden superstition.

He began pushing fully in, the tight ring of muscle struggling under the pressure of his knot. He heard Credence too, he emitted a high-pitched keen that ripped the thick air around them. He looked at Graves with big, round eyes, scared but eager to end the heat, to quench the thirst.

“Easy, love,” Graves said, abandoning Credence’s hips to cup his face.

Staring straight into the dark pair of eyes, Graves rolled his hips in gentle motions, with purpose. Each thrust he pushed a little farther, accommodating the swollen flesh inside the slippery tightness that was Credence’s channel. And Credence stared back at him, as if entranced by their lecherous dance, disregarding the other people. The world was only them and their bodies alone, soaked, pleased, close to combusting in a single more stroke.

He kissed the spot between Credence’s brows, then the tip of his nose.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Credence,” he promised, “I’m going to take you with me.”

Then he pressed another kiss to the Credence’s lips, nibbled plump and pink. It began chaste, but when Credence opened his mouth, yielding so sweetly, the wetness of his tongue, the feel and weight of it, burned passionately within Graves. Just as he pushed his tongue deeper inside Credence’s pliant mouth, his knot, hefty and febrile, thrummed madly with pleasure, fully enveloped by the tight opening.

“Mr. Graves!” Credence whimpered, voice clasping almost as much as his body.

Graves aimed his attention at Credence’s once again hardened cock. It would make it the third orgasm for Credence, but Graves wanted him as relaxed as possible when he himself came. After a few jerks of his hand around the sore girth, and a light squeeze to the boy’s tight sack, Credence was heaving through his last climax, back arching as he hid his flushed face on the pillow.

Graves took advantage of his momentary absent-mindedness, and pumped his hips once, and up to four times, and soon enough he was coming, filling Credence with his seed.

They lay still for a while, pulses accelerated and limbs heavy, while Graves’ knot softened.

Credence looked the definition of debauchery, yet there was an unmistakable angelic air in him too.

At some point, the staff had the good -common- sense of leaving. Graves propped himself up on an elbow and, with Credence curved before him, lay a protective hand on the boy’s bony hip.

“This is not how I imagined this visit would go, Credence… Forgive me.”

Credence remained silent but took Graves’ hand in his own, examining the fingernails.

“Don’t be, Mr. Graves,” behind the mist of lust and bliss, he seemed peaceful, even with the pronounced darkness circling his eyes.

Credence shifted on the bed so he could face Graves better, still clinging to his hand. He seemed strangely captivated by it, even more so when he stroked the side of his face to the calloused knuckles. It was a bizarre gesture, Graves thought, but it seemed to mean a lot to Credence judging by the wetness of his eyes. As if he expected to find anything other than gentleness from that hand, as if he were grateful it didn’t strike him on the spot.

His voice was small when he spoke, but Graves heard each word, “I missed you too, Mr. Graves.”

In the end, he hadn’t given Credence a mating bite. If Credence ever came to belong to him –and he did, not even a week later-, it would be his own choice, unaffected by an overwhelming heat or out of fear. What Graves did do that afternoon was press many hungry kisses that were sure to leave marks on Credence’s pale neck and collarbone. He kissed Credence until their mouths were dry and their lungs strained, until they both fell asleep disregarding the stern visiting policy. None of the nurses came after him though, he was director of Magical Security and head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, mostly importantly, he was Credence Barebone’s soon-to-be Alpha.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> idek<3
> 
> find me on tumblr [ elvishflower ](http://elvishflower.tumblr.com/)


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